For everything around me which I experience is cold and dead

The blood of others are of a colder substance and taste

Therefore I must spill and serve,

The blood that in me runs vibrant

In the frost of the dying minds,

Of Western society I recreate

It will be the resurrection,

Of the brotherhood of holy death

In the year of the Holy Roman Empire,

Of night times to come and last

The day of which I shall,

Lay my sword upon your throats

Upon the mighty warriors,

Of the land of northern regions

Upon the shores of our desolate coast within the waves

I can see the wreckage floating ashore of the dying culture

And so I greet those who still have eyes to observe and see

And who still have courage to break through into the dying light